


A Sweater Curse

by Raven_is_blue



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale is Not a Failwolf, Derek Hale is a Christmas Baby, Fluff, M/M, Sterek Secret Santa 2019, preslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:15:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21729661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_is_blue/pseuds/Raven_is_blue
Summary: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sweater_curse
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 8
Kudos: 46
Collections: The Sterek Secret Santa - Edition 2019





	A Sweater Curse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [systems](https://archiveofourown.org/users/systems/gifts).



There was a package at his doorstep. A simple lump of brown paper, tied with red ribbon and holding a "Happy Birthday" card.

But... it was Christmas Eve morning and his actual birthday wasn’t until Christmas.

Derek took the little, lumpy package and set under his tree. Yes, he had a tree, thank you very much, and he had a small hope that some of Scott's pack, Isaac, or maybe Stiles, would show up at some point during the holidays. Nobody, aside from the Hales, celebrated Christmas Eve anymore. For most people, it was just the evening before Christmas, time for a big dinner, a party with friends. The whole pack was now in Scott's home... but not Derek and Peter. After Mexico, nothing was normal anymore. Derek really thought that only things that kept them from going feral were Derek's "evolved" status and their steady anchors. Almost a pack of two. The most pack two Omegas can make.

For the Hales, Christmas Eve was a big event. The whole family gathered in the packhouse, everybody busy with cooking, helping, cleaning, preparing the tree, wrapping the gifts. Buzz and joy. Even Peter would lose some of his cutting sarcasm and help Talia with their mother’s secret recipes, smiling softly and joining in with easy sibling banter.

Now? Now Peter was all cutting edges and a sharp, poisonous tongue. They tried to avoid each other on Christmas Eve. Only the next day, Derek's birthday, would Peter come, a little spooked, eyes red, hands shaking, and they just would sit and stare at the TV screen, hoping that something would happen. Something that would relieve them from this annual duty. 

Thinking about it...

Derek took his lumpy present and opened it.

Between the sheets of brown paper was a mostly green, old, ugly sweater. Worn, clumsily patched, with mismatched buttons, some of the colors faded, some brightly new.

And that smell...

Burned sugar and pumpkin spice. Rain in the forest. Dark, smooth scent of earth with powdery notes of bark. Sunny, shiny resin, like amber, like whiskey eyes. Stiles.

Gunpowder and leather. Sunburned sand and pepper. Sheriff.

Sour, acidic scent of sweat. Sharp note of medicine. Old people?

Little touches of perfume. Flowery. Light. Like mother’s smiles. Like lover’s kisses. Claudia?

The warm melody of wool danced with a high note of cotton, blending smoothly, dancing together like seasoned dancers, intertwined forever and always.

Why would Stiles give him an old sweater?

Light green patches over the elbows were the oldest. Smelled flowery and of aged greens, almost like dried herbs. Three red dots over the heart smelled like Stiles pain and Sheriff's blood, but also like love and hope. And it almost made Derek shift and run to Stilinskis, to see with his own eyes that both of them were alive and healthy.

His feelings for Stiles were easy - he loved that boy. Simple, easy, hidden.

Derek moved his fingers over the cobalt blue patch near the left pocket. Clumsy. Bumpy. Uneven. It seemed like a child's work. But it smelled mostly with gunpowder and leather, so Sheriff had palmed that one often.

It was like a story. Every patch, each button, even the seams told him a story about... the Stilinskis. Even if he had no idea what this is about, Derek decided that it's a solid evening plan - reading a sweater.

Derek stood at the Stilinskis front door and hesitated. He had spent the whole night chasing the small smells and aromas on this map of emotions, he tried to write stories, simple, easy stories about... love, but the only thing he could think of, the one thing he kept coming back to, was impossible. Stiles couldn't. Stiles didn't. Just no.

And yet. Derek stood here wearing that ugly sweater and grasping at a small, teeny tiny hope. He knocked. 

"Ah, Derek, seems like I won that burger. Thank you." Sheriff smiled mischievously and slightly raised voice. "Stiles, you have a guest. I WON THAT BURGER, SON! Go, Derek, he's hiding in his room."

Small steps. Small. Little steps. First - never try to understand a Stilinski, they are super alien species and they don't think like human ( _or werewolf, Derek_ , his inner Stiles voice added) beings. Second - stairs. There were stairs, one, then another, then there was door vis a vis Claudia's portrait. It was beautiful, she was beautiful. The same golden eyes, freckles and this warm smile. The smile loving mothers have.

Stiles sat on his bed. Knees tucked under his chin, his long fingers clenched so hard that knuckles turned white, eyes hidden.

"You... you’re wearing it." His voice was small and vulnerable, but full of awe and... hope? Derek didn't dare to scent his chemosignals, he wanted it to be honest between them. No idea really where from that particular thought came, but he needed to be honest with Stiles. He needed that almost more than air.

"Yes." His own voice was so low that he felt it like a whisper.

"There’s a curse, you know? A sweater curse. Every knitter knows that. When you start to knit a sweater for your loved one, the relationship crumbles and dies," Stiles rambled. Derek knew him long enough to know that it’s always worth it to wait. "My Babcia started to knit one during the war, but her husband left her for a younger girl. She destroyed that cardigan and promised herself never knit one again. But she met Mietek."

"Hmm...?"

"Mietek. Is endearment from Mieczysław."

"Mieczysław, like you..."

"You know my name?! Dude, say it again!"

"Don't call me 'dude', Mieczysław."

"I died. I died right here, but, please, never ever call me that."

"Mietek?"

"You, Sourwolf, you are amazing. Let me finish my story?" Brown eyes shined with mirth and fingers were loose and pliant. "She met him and she fell in love. They got married and had my mother. Babcia knitted almost daily, but she never knitted a sweater for Dziaduś. He asked why, of course, and she told him about the curse. He laughed at her and asked for one. Eventually she knitted this one. And nothing happened. They lived together for a long time, and every time the sweater needed that, she mended it. First with matched colors and yarn, but later she decided to paint a story on it."

"Of love."

"Yes."

"You and your father. You mended it too."

"Yes, and Mom a little, she was never very good at it."

"And yet, you gave it to me."

"Der... if you... if I..."

"No. I want it. I would knit one for you, but I'm afraid of the curse." Derek smiled and reached for Stiles’ hand. They were standing so close. Derek closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. The scents. The aroma. Burned sugar and pumpkin spice. Rain in the forest. Dark, smooth scent of earth with powdery notes of bark. Sunny, shiny resin, like amber, like whiskey-colored eyes. Love. Hope. Promise. All charmed into cinnamon notes and a sharper blend of spices. Fiery.

"Happy birthday, Der-Bear."

"Merry Christmas, Stiles."

The kiss was gentle. They had time.

  
  



End file.
